Christmas
by Figlia Della Musica
Summary: On Christmas Eve, Macleod is missing someone very important to him (Duncan/Methos SLASH implied)


Title: Christmas  
  
Author: Figlia Della Musica  
  
Series: none  
  
Pairing: Duncan/Methos  
  
Timeframe: It doesn't have a specific timeline, it's just assumed to be in the future..  
  
Summary: it's a little too short. just read it.  
  
Warnings: slash, mush, angst  
  
Rating: Sorry, no nookie. PG  
  
Archive: OnlyDuncanMethos, anywhere else ask and ye shall receive.  
  
Author's comments: My first Duncan/Methos fic. My first Highlander fic, come to think of it. I'm such a newbies.  
  
Disclaimer: These gentlemen do not belong to me, unfortunately, and I don't make any money off of this. I wish I did, but if wishes were Immortals..  
  
+++++++++  
  
December 2001  
  
+++++++++  
  
Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod climbed the stairs to the loft slowly, the lack of a Presence waiting emphasizing his loss. Depression weighed the Highlander down, and he sank to the waiting sofa tiredly, lost in the past.  
  
It had been three years ago today, Christmas Eve, when Methos had gotten the call. The anonymous, threatening, world-shattering call.  
  
"Beware. You will be hunted. There are those who would see the destruction of the Horsemen complete. Remember the Crusaders." That was what Methos had told Mac the caller said.  
  
Then Methos had left. He took nothing but his sword, coat, and most recent journal. His only explanation: "MacLeod, Duncan, please don't be angry. I have to leave. There are dangers afoot."  
  
Then he was out the door, leaving a bewildered, frightened, and heartbroken Scot to stare after his lover. The letters were brief, always postmarked from obscure countries, and bore no return address. The longest one had explained what was going on.  
  
"MacLeod," it had read. "My past has come to haunt us again, love. There was a group that formed, twenty Immortals, just after I left the Horsemen. They had considered, thought, and decided that the way to prevent the Apocalypse from ever occurring was to kill the ones who would supposedly bring it. That's why I thought Kronos was dead for so long. I figured these guys had gotten him.  
  
I last ran into one during the Crusades. He'd joined up to go fight, and I was living in the Middle East at the time. He recognized me as an ex-Horseman, I don't know how, but I barely escaped with my head. Now it looks as though all twenty are after me, as the last surviving one of the Four. They're ruthless, and they'll stop at nothing to get rid of me. That includes using you to force me to surrender. I don't want you pulled into this, so I have to leave. I don't know when I'll be able to return. It may be a year, it may be a century, but be sure that I will return. Tell Joe that too. I haven't left you permanently. The half of my heart that you've been carrying for the past ten years is still yours, I didn't take it with me. I'm going to kill these guys as fast as I can then come back to Seacouver. It'll be hard, though. They stay in a group and the only way I can kill them is one-on-one. Trust, though, that I'll be back. I love you, will always love you.  
  
Methos."  
  
  
  
Mac still had the letter, it was on the nightstand next to his side of the bed. He pulled out his sword and began polishing it mindlessly, his thoughts far away with the lover who'd left three years ago.  
  
Three long, lonely years. Mac had taken to drinking heavily, and Joe had more than once expressed deep concern over the Scot's relatively nonexistent sober periods. Amanda had flown in from New York when she'd heard, but had been unable to cheer Duncan up. She'd tried everything, from letting him talk about Methos (which only made him more depressed) to trying to wiggle her way into his bed (at which point he'd thrown her bodily out of the loft and told her to go stay with Joe). Methos would NOT return to find his Highlander in bed with anyone else. Never.  
  
Christmas was when Duncan missed the old man most of all. Methos had a tradition established the first Christmas of their relationship; he would wake MacLeod up at 12:01 Christmas Day, as soon as it was technically December 25th, and declare himself the Scot's first present. The thought of that lean, perfect body with a ridiculous red ribbon wrapped around it was pleasant, but now tinged with undeniable sadness. This Christmas, there would be no such midnight awakening. As there had not been last Christmas, or the Christmas before that. Or the Christmas before that, but the shock at that point had been so new that it had not registered. It had been on the first-anniversary of Methos' departure that MacLeod realized it could take far more than a year for the old man to bring down twenty adversaries who knew what they were doing.  
  
Mac put away the sword, and shambled into the bathroom, pulling off his clothes and starting the shower. He turned the water up as hot as he could stand, then stepped under the flow and tried to drown his sorrows. Or scald them. But it did no good. He dried himself off and climbed into bed, his heart nearly breaking from his lover's absence.  
  
In an imitation of Methos' Welsh accent, MacLeod murmured, "Good night, Highlander. Maybe Santa will leave you a special gift this year."  
  
The only present he wanted was in hiding somewhere in a third-world country. Duncan MacLeod sighed and fell asleep slowly.  
  
()()()()()  
  
The buzz awakened the sleepy Scot from a light sleep, and he figured it was probably Amanda, coming in to check on him and make sure he hadn't given in and drunk himself to death, so he didn't open his eyes.  
  
Then he felt the weight on the end of the bed, and he sat up to see a face he'd not beheld in three years. Methos was sitting cross-legged on the end of the bed, and in the darkness that could only mean it was the middle of the night, the beloved face was ghostly.  
  
"Merry Christmas, Duncan."  
  
"Methos!" Duncan surged out of bed and wrapped his arms around the thin frame. Methos returned the embrace wholeheartedly, and they rocked back and forth holding each other as hard as they could.  
  
"Duncan, love, I missed you," Methos murmured into the crook of Mac's neck, his lips brushing the tan skin.  
  
"Aye, and I you," Duncan replied, pulling Methos' face up to brush his lips along each cheekbone, then against the mouth that returned the kiss desperately, hungrily.  
  
When they broke, Methos murmured, "Here's your Christmas present, love. Three years belated, but I'm certain we can make up for lost time."  
  
"Oh, aye, but we'll need to get started soon," Duncan replied with a grin.  
  
"You bet." 


End file.
